


¿Habla Inglés?

by kissesfromkrug



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Frottage, Language Barrier, Language Kink, M/M, porn with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-16 12:37:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14165001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissesfromkrug/pseuds/kissesfromkrug
Summary: Whoever gave each team a free week was, in Mitch’s mind, a genius.





	¿Habla Inglés?

**Author's Note:**

> Not for profit, fictional; feel free to point out any typos. :)
> 
> Wow uh. I can’t say I have any explanation for this.
> 
> I also don’t speak Spanish, so if I say anything wrong...blame Google Translate, and correct me. *thumbs up* Also, please utilize a translation device. There’s lots of things to see, and I myself have since needed to re-look up some of these phrases...

Mitch tucks himself close to the warm body beside him, salt air filtering in through the window. An arm loops around his waist, voice murmuring, "Stay, just a little while."

Mitch doesn’t reply, only sets his hand over the large one on his stomach and lets the rise and fall of their chests lull him to sleep.

* * *

Whoever gave each team a free week was, in Mitch’s mind, a genius. Nothing better than drinks with umbrellas in them, on a beach with friends and dozens of attractive foreigners, watching the sunset. And that’s only the beginning of the _fiesta_.

He leans back in the wooden beach chair and takes a long sip of his sweet margarita. He’s living the life.

*

The guy is tall and broad, khaki shorts not doing his legs justice, nor leaving any room for them to stretch. He’s got a classic tourist floral t-shirt on, one size too small, and a sharp smile that makes Mitch weak. The guy is obviously from around here, despite his shirt, tanned skin and dark hair making for a near-perfect specimen.

He smiles sympathetically, grabbing the top of the chair next to Mitch to signal that he wants it. Mitch nods slowly at him, and the guy lets out a breath and sits next to him. Mitch’s eyes widen, and he faces forward and bites his lip in order to avoid staring.

" _Estoy Auston_ ," the guy says after a beat, and Mitch uses it as an excuse to look over at him. " _Y tu?_ "

"Me?" Mitch asks, realizing he’s being watched expectantly. He may have been looking back, but who’s really counting that? "I—what?"

" _Tu nombre, guapo. Me llamo Auston, eso es Julia, eso es Enrico..."_ Mitch scrunches his nose up and tries to piece it together in his head as Auston points to various people. 11th grade Spanish class was a long time ago. " _Lo entiendes?"_

"My name?" Mitch asks, jabbing a finger at his own chest. The stranger frowns for a second, then nods.

_"Sí, ¿como te llamas?"_

"Oh, uh—" Mitch knows a "yes" when he hears one. "I’m, um, my name is Mitch."

"Mitch," the guy says, staring at him intently. His mouth curves up into another soft smile as he points at Mitch and repeats, "Mitch." Mitch nods, and the guy points to himself. " _Auston, con un 'o'."_

"You’re—oh, Auston," Mitch confirms, and Auston nods again. _God_ , his smile is gorgeous. "Auston—what?"

" _A-u-s-t-o-n,"_ he spells. _"Con un 'o'._ "

"Oh, nice. Cool. That’s—I like that." Mitch smiles right back, inwardly cringing at his awkwardness, and Auston—with an 'o'—runs a hand through his hair and leans back in the chair. "It’s, um. Nice to meet you." _Wow, Mitch, good going_ , Mitch thinks the second the words come out of his mouth. _The guy doesn’t even speak English and you’re still trying to talk to him_. Auston furrows his eyebrows, and Mitch swears under his breath.

He waves a hand at Auston and pulls out his phone, opening up the translating app. He types in "it’s nice to meet you", reading the words as best he can. "Uh,  _gusto en conocerlo, Auston_." Auston nods in agreement, looking proud that Mitch has discovered this new, frankly obvious helping tool.

 _"Sí, y tu."_ Auston thinks for a moment, a sly look creeping across his attractive face. " _¿Venir aquí a menudo?"_

Okay, they’re actually doing this. Talking. Mitch can do that. (If he can understand Auston, that is.)

Auston motions for Mitch’s phone, types some words in, and tries to speak the words. "'Come here often?'" He shows Mitch the phone screen, and Mitch laughs and blushes.

Damn, even his accent is hot. Not to mention he’s actually flirting with Mitch. Probably.

"Nah, I’m from Toronto," Mitch says. "Canada. Way up." He points to the sky, and Auston looks up for a moment before he laughs. Mitch is so screwed—and he’s only just met the guy.

" _Sé dónde está eso, pollito_ ," Auston answers with another chuckle, shaking his head. " _Eres tan jodida adorable_." He looks out at the water, then to Mitch again. _"Bailar conmigo?"_ He pauses, types the words into Mitch’s phone and hands it back.

"Dance?" Mitch asks, eyes wide. "Um." He catches sight of the excited glint in Auston’s dark eyes, weakening as Auston stands and offers his hand. "No—I mean, we could, uh—"

" _Ven conmigo,_ _Mitch, mi cariño,_ " Auston says, reaching onto the little table beside him and downing a rum shot. He looks over and beams at Mitch, like it’s totally not weird that he was staring, and like—Mitch isn’t even concerned as to where the drink came from, just—that damn smile is dangerous.

Mitch bites his lower lip, slowly reaching out to take his hand. It’s warm and strong, the calluses scraping his palm showing his life of hard work. He easily hauls up Mitch, throwing an arm over his shoulders—holy fucking  _shit_ , he’s big—and guiding him towards the group.

"But I—I’m not very good, _no bueno_ ," Mitch tries, phone in his pocket and hands waving in front of him.

" _No, mi bonito tesoro, tienes el bueno cuerpo_ ," Auston purrs, tightening his arm around Mitch. Mitch has no idea what he’s saying, but it still sends shivers down his spine. " _Eres tan atractivo de todos modos."_ Mitch is still holding his drink, he remembers, so he downs it all and puts the glass on a random table. Liquid courage.

Mitch is about to protest again when Auston leads them past the band and into the house—Auston’s, Mitch hopes. He’d rather not be caught sneaking around a random person’s home just 'cause.

"Hm?" Mitch is distracted by the strong line of Auston’s jaw, a faint dusting of stubble on the edge and a slight amused twist to his full lips. They’re in a bedroom, flags and trophies lining one wall while a dresser sits next to the rather small window. Mitch hopes to _God_ this is Auston’s room.

Auston looks as if he’s about to say something, glancing at something behind Mitch. He licks his lips, pushing Mitch against the door and leaning down so his breath hits Mitch’s ear just right.

"Does it turn you on?" He whispers, that devastating accent weakening Mitch’s knees again. But holy  _fuck_ , he can actually speak English. Mitch would be embarrassed about his sub-par conversational skills in another language if he weren’t suddenly half-hard in his shorts.

Auston seems to read his mind, hand sliding down to press against the growing bulge. Mitch groans, tilting his head back. "Fuck, yeah," he gets out, and Auston smirks triumphantly.

"Then why don’t you kiss me, hm?"

Mitch isn’t about to waste an offer like that.

Auston’s tongue is another part of him that Mitch is ridiculously attracted to, he discovers as Auston licks into his mouth and draws desperate moans from Mitch’s throat. Mitch grips his biceps tightly, pushing his body even closer.

"Mitch, fuck," Auston murmurs, " _Eres jodidamente precioso._ "

"What?" Mitch pants, nails digging into the fabric as Auston works on marking up his neck. "What does that mean?"

"You’re so fucking gorgeous," Auston says in between kisses and bites. " _Mierda, amado, ojalá pudiera follarte. Lo sé serías tan perfecto para mí._ So perfect for me."

"Fuck," Mitch says, then feeling Auston’s hands struggle to work their way into his back pockets.

"So tight," Auston mutters, and Mitch groans at the implications as Auston removes his hands and presses his thigh hard between Mitch’s legs.

He grinds down on what must be pure muscle with an embarrassingly loud whimpering groan, Auston holding him tight as Mitch leans up for a kiss, getting exactly what he wants and more.

"You gonna come for me, _azúcar_?" Auston asks, voice rough when he pulls away again. Mitch didn’t think they were actually gonna venture down that route, but. " _Estás cerca?"_

"Yeah, shit— _oh_ —" Mitch lets out a whine as Auston sucks hard on a spot on his collar while simultaneously rolling his hips into Mitch’s. Mitch slides his hands to Auston’s ass, squeezing it in rhythm with the motion of hips. "Fuck, fuck, please, 'm gonna—"

" _Venga, venga, cariño, mi querido, venga,"_ Auston chants, and the hot determined look in his eyes is enough to make Mitch come right there on his thigh, in his stupidly tight shorts, squirming and moaning at the feeling of Auston’s tongue on his neck again.

"Let me, c’mon," Mitch whines as Auston pulls away, grabbing him by the belt loops. "I can—"

Auston just unzips his shorts and shoves his hand into them, apparently too desperate to push them down as Mitch watches with unrestrained awe. The muscles in his arm flex as he jerks himself, other hand planted next to Mitch’s head as he stares at Mitch’s face, eyes going from his mouth to his eyes, cheekbones to his hair, and all over again, like all it takes is just— _Mitch_ to get him off. It makes up for the gross wetness in his shorts, but he soon ignores it altogether as he cups Auston’s jaw in one hand and squeezes.

"You’re so hot," Mitch tells him quietly, "So good." His throat is dry as the desert as Auston groans loudly and chokes out,

 _"Ay, chingado, me estás matando."_ His mouth drops open and dark eyes squeeze shut, and he slumps against the wall.

Mitch bites down hard on his lip so as to not make a noise as Auston removes his hand, Mitch wrapping his fingers tight around Auston’s wrist. _"¿Lo quieres?"_ He asks, looking between Mitch and his wrist. "You want it?" He lets Mitch guide the filthy fingers into his mouth, inhaling sharply as Mitch eagerly sucks them clean. His tongue twists around the thick digits longer than it really needs to, knowingly obscene, but the effect it has on Auston is astounding.

" _Estás tan caliente,"_ he says, raspy, pressing closer to Mitch once more. Mitch moans around his fingers, and Auston slides them out only to rub over Mitch’s red, wet lips. "So fucking hot."

"Not the only one," Mitch returns, breathing rapidly as his heart thumps in his ears. He stares at Auston’s attractive features, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he thinks of all the fun things they could—

"Stay," Auston says, voice soft, warm, and sedated, like he’s just fallen into a trance. " _Quédate aquí, por favor. Quédate conmigo_." Mitch could listen to him talk for hours, he thinks—and in any language.

Mitch realizes he’s zoned out when Auston taps his cheek and adds, " _¿Tienes que irte pronto?_ You will leave soon?"

Mitch shakes his head. "Like, next week," he says, and Auston breathes a sigh of relief.

"Stay," he repeats, stroking his clean hand down Mitch’s chest to wrap around his waist. He looks—happy, but also just a bit nervous. As if Mitch would ever say no to that face, or accent, or body, or— _anything_.

God, is Mitch grateful for the bye week, he thinks as he pulls Auston down into a lazy kiss, deep and sweet.

"Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> Aka, Mitch is hot for accents...just like me...


End file.
